


A Moment of Weakness

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e19 The Immunity Syndrome, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What are we doing, Spock?” McCoy whispered, breathing in Spock’s scent.“I am… uncertain.”
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Kudos: 46
Collections: Anonymous





	A Moment of Weakness

“You’ve got your Vulcan physiology to thank, but you’re fine.”

“As I repeatedly told you, Doctor”—Spock propped himself up on his elbows, meeting McCoy’s eyes—“you did not need to take twice as much time than required to examine me.”

“I wasn’t aware you got yourself a medical degree.” McCoy glared at Spock.

“No, but I do know my limits.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said and pushed the button to lower the biobed.

Spock straightened, his black undershirt stretching over his chest. McCoy looked away, and his eyes fell on Spock’s blue tunic.

“Don’t think I forgot about the botched acetylcholine test,” McCoy continued, his tone sharp, as he handed Spock his uniform.

“I collected other data, Doctor.” Spock held his tunic, looking at his hands. “If you are amenable, we can look at them tomorrow at nine hundred. You should find them interesting.”

“So now you want to let me share in this?” McCoy hissed.

“It was never a competition.” Spock stepped back and got dressed. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “As I said, you would not have survived it. Good night, Doctor.”

McCoy blinked. Before he could react, the door closed behind Spock with a swish. McCoy leaned his hands against the biobed, closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

*

It was late. It wasn’t a good idea, but something pulled him toward Spock’s door. Just five more steps and he would reach his own. Instead, he sounded the chime and clasped his hands behind his back. When the door opened, he rocked on the balls of his feet and flicked his eyes up and down Spock’s body to make sure nothing was amiss.

“Doctor?” Spock was not quick enough to compose his face, and McCoy glimpsed the confusion there. “Is something wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

Spock frowned but stepped aside.

“I won’t be—” McCoy started and stopped.

Spock’s meditation mat was in the middle of the room, an asymmetrical candle holder with two burning candles in front of it.

McCoy felt a pang of guilt. “Should I…” He made a vague gesture, looking at the dark brown candle holder.

“Do not concern yourself, Doctor,” Spock said, not moving away from the door.

McCoy’s nails dug into his palm as he looked around the room. He was familiar with its decorations and red curtains, but it gave him something to do as he tried to organize his thoughts. His eyes stopped on the lute in the corner.

“I haven’t heard you play for some time,” McCoy said without thinking.

“Doctor, if you came here to discuss something, please proceed.”

Something in McCoy flared up and he whirled back. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. A few hours earlier, there had been a moment when he— when they thought Spock died. McCoy hadn’t wanted to accept it and had hoped and believed until the very end, but the heavy guilt he felt after Spock uttered “tell Doctor McCoy he should have wished me luck” would keep burdening him for days. He should have— just once, just once he should have swallowed his pride and be honest.

Spock touched his shoulder. McCoy raised his head. Spock’s eyebrows were furrowed and there was an unreadable, heavy expression in his eyes.

McCoy should have told him. Good luck. They were just two simple words. So simple, yet damning. Saying them out loud, saying them to Spock’s face would only make Spock’s highly probable death so much more real, and McCoy couldn’t—

Spock’s fingers on McCoy’s shoulder tightened almost painfully.

“Doctor,” he said.

That, more than the pressure on his shoulder, brought McCoy back to the present. Spock was there and alive.

“I”—McCoy wet his lips—“I should go.”

“Doctor.”

“I should leave you to your meditation.” McCoy shrugged off Spock’s hand and tried to step around him.

“McCoy.” Spock’s fingers lightly brushed against McCoy’s elbow, stopping him. “Stay.”

“I didn’t come here to have sex, Spock,” McCoy growled, something unpleasant rising in his stomach.

“Stay the night. To sleep.”

Everything stopped. Spock’s face was so carefully neutral McCoy knew he was hiding several strong feelings. His heartbeat quickened. They had never done that. Getting into bed with Spock without the intention to have sex was new and disconcerting, and McCoy craved it. Craved the simple intimacy of it. It had been too damn long.

Spock’s fingers encircled his wrist, and he pressed McCoy’s palm against his own heart. The heartbeat was fast. Too fast to count without McCoy’s instruments, but calming and familiar. A proof Spock was alive. McCoy let out a deep sigh and laid his forehead on Spock’s shoulder.

“What are we doing, Spock?” McCoy whispered, breathing in Spock’s scent.

“I am… uncertain.”

McCoy’s lips curled into a smile. “Are you?”

Spock’s body tensed, but before McCoy could decide if it was a good sign or a bad sign, Spock exhaled and quietly said, “Leonard.”

A shiver ran down McCoy’s spine.

“It should… make it easier to fall asleep,” Spock continued and for a brief moment, McCoy imagined Spock meant both of them.

Before he could really think about it, he raised his head and brushed his lips against Spock’s. “Okay.”

The lines around Spock’s mouth softened, and McCoy looked away, embarrassed. “Okay,” he repeated and stepped away, shaking off Spock’s grip on his wrist. “I’ll take a shower.”

*

When McCoy came back freshly showered, Spock had already blown out the candles and put the meditation mat away. He stood in front of the window, its screen down and the stars visible.

McCoy joined him, a drop of water trickling down his neck, and for several minutes they watched the dark space in silence.

“We’ll reach Starbase Six in twelve hours,” McCoy said after a while.

“In twelve hours, forty-one minutes.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Do you have plans?”

From the corner of his eye, McCoy saw Spock turning his head to look at him. “I believe we had agreed to look at the data I collected.”

Hearing that sent an unexpected surge of warmth through McCoy’s body. He wet his lips. “Yes, but I’m not spending my entire shore leave in the lab.”

“I did not expect you to.” Spock inclined his head. “I remember the Captain asked you to accompany him to a bar.”

McCoy suppressed the urge to roll his eyes again. “I’m trying to ask you to spend some of it with me. Outside of the lab.”

Spock turned his whole body toward McCoy, eyebrows raised. “Is that what you were doing?”

“Not very well, I admit,” McCoy murmured, his cheeks warm.

Spock closed the window screen and walked toward his desk to input some commands into the computer. “There is an arboretum with trees and woody plants from sixty-seven different planets, some already extinct on their native ones.” Spock read from the screen. “Do you find that agreeable, Doctor?”

McCoy blinked more than once. That was unexpected. There was something different about Spock this evening, and McCoy wasn’t sure what it meant.

Sex was simple. Their arrangement was simple. Anything more would not be. And yet McCoy wanted it. Badly.

“Yes,” he said simply and reached out his hand.

After a moment, Spock took it, his grasp firm and warm, and McCoy pulled him toward the bed.

He didn’t know what would tomorrow bring. Perhaps they would get into an argument long before they’d arrived at Starbase Six. Perhaps Spock would change his mind. Perhaps another emergency would take them off course. But for now, McCoy allowed himself to forget about the universe outside of Spock’s quarters. He allowed himself to pretend this was more than just a moment of weakness. Pretend that what they had could become something more if both of them allowed it.


End file.
